


The Worst Thing is Waiting

by DawnsEternalLight



Series: Whumptober 2020 [2]
Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Bank Robbery, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Damian Wayne is Robin, Dick Grayson is Batman, Fluff, Gen, Gun Violence, Gunshots, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, No editing we die like mne, Vomiting, Whumptober 2020, but they're civilians the whole time, not sure if this applies but
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:29:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26798122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DawnsEternalLight/pseuds/DawnsEternalLight
Summary: Sometimes robberies go badly. Sometimes they go really badly. And sometimes they're planned so poorly that nothing really goes right. Too bad Dick and Damian are caught up in one such robbery.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne
Series: Whumptober 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1956973
Comments: 24
Kudos: 244





	The Worst Thing is Waiting

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Whumptober 2020 Day 3: My Way or the Highway. Featuring all three options: Manhandled, forced to their knees, and held at gunpoint.

Damian crossed his arms and turned slightly to look out at the street. The sun was almost gone from the sky, making a chilly Gotham even cooler without its warmth. At eight in the evening, the traffic in Gotham’s financial district was light. So light a car only passed by every couple minutes. 

He had been able to count the number of cars passing because they’d been standing outside for _forever_. He squeezed his arms a bit closer to his chest and glanced back at Grayson. The man was still chatting happily with the bank manager, apparently unmoved by the growing chill, loss of sunlight, and Damian’s own mental daggers. 

He’d spent the past half hour sending Grayson a number of looks ranging from irritated to practically begging the man to end his conversation so they could leave. He had only come on this little adventure because he had been promised a trip to the craft store for more supplies, but at this point Damian feared they’d be closed before his brother finished his conversation. 

Grayson, for his part, seemed utterly oblivious of Damian’s mood, or Damian in general. Beyond a very early, “Just a minute, Dames. We’ll be on our way soon enough.” he hadn’t responded to any of Damian’s looks, or his dismissive tut he’d tried earlier. 

Truth be told, Damian was _bored_. 

A gust of wind caught him again, tugging at his sleeves, and the back of his light jacket. Too light a jacket to be standing around outside this long. He huffed, not quietly, and looked pointedly at his brother again. 

Grayson laughed at something the bank manager, Henry O’Conner, said. 

Damian had never had to wait this long when he lived with Mother. She did not stand around with anyone, not even Grandfather. The only time Damian had ever stood around waiting like this was the single time his Grandfather had been late to the evening meal. His reason? He had been fending off an assassination attempt. 

The street around them had been empty ten minutes now, with the remaining lingering staff members already having left and gone home for the day. Even those who worked later than most were gone. 

So when a man turned down their street, tall and lanky, his frame covered by a large trench coat, Damian took notice. He watched him carefully, not directly of course. It was rude to stare. No Damian kept an eye on him out of the corners of his vision. He’d shifted again, just slightly so he could seem like he was watching his brother, and also have a fairly clear view of the man. 

Nothing about the guy really screamed danger, but it did not hurt to be on one's guard, and he could think of little reason for anyone to be out here at this hour. All the buildings were closed to the public at this point, and unless he’d forgotten something at an office he had a key to no one was letting him in. 

“Alright, Damian, I think we’re ready to head out.” Grayson said, surprising him. 

Damian jumped, his attention jerking towards his brother for real, “What?”

Grayson gave him half a smile, “Zoned out there, kiddo?”

He scowled, “Only because your incessant droning almost put me to sleep on my feet.” 

Instead of responding, Grayson’s smile fell. Damian had almost an entire second to remember the man in the trench coat before an arm hooked him around his throat and dragged him backwards. 

The sudden pressure choked him as he was pulled into a too thin chest. Damian’s hands flew up to try and pull the arm away. As he did, a wave of smoke washed over him, and Damian’s eye’s started to water, his throat itching in addition to the desperate need to get in more air than a wisp. 

He saw Grayson move forward then freeze as something cold pressed to Damian’s temple. 

“Move and the kid’s brain paints the sidewalk.” 

_Oh_. This was not how Damian wanted his evening to turn out. 

He pulled again at the arm and wheezed. 

“Okay.” Grayson was saying, arms raised up in surrender, “Okay. Just, loosen your hold a bit, he’s turning blue.” 

Damian felt the pressure against his windpipe ease up marginally. It was enough to let him breathe just a bit more. He sucked in air only to cough it back out again, the smell of cigarette smoke far too strong, there was something else under it, sour and disgusting. Damian wrinkled his nose at it. 

Grayson’s eyes flashed to him, but no one else seemed to care much. That was fine, Damian really didn’t want the man’s attention. He let a few fingers flare out in an attempt at telling his brother he was fine, and that seemed to calm him. 

The chilly metal pulled away from his skin to be waved in front of Damian, towards the bank manager. 

“Open the building.” 

When Henry hesitated, the man waved the gun again, “ _Now_.”

“Okay, give me a second.” Henry complied, now shuffling with a ring of keys. 

Damian could see the man’s hands shaking, hear the rattling of keys that weren’t just being pushed around. At last the doors slid open and Henry stood back, waving at the opening.

“Alright, there it is, just let the kid go.” he said. 

Damian felt the man shake his head, it was more like he shook his whole body with how much energy he put into it, “No. We’re all going in. You two first.” 

Damian felt the man shove him from behind. He hated being pushed forward, he had no idea how fast or slow the man wanted to move, his balance was off, and walking evenly was quite simply out of the question. He briefly considered taking this opportunity to turn the tables on the man, to freeze in his tracks, bite down on the arm, and then slip away fast enough any retaliation would be too late. After that the possibilities were endless as to how he could disarm the guy and finish off this whole situation. 

He didn’t do any of that. This man didn’t seem unhinged, but this situation hadn’t gone on long enough that Damian couldn’t be sure he wouldn’t simply shoot Grayson or the bank manager. They were moving into the building, but still well within range. Additionally, while biting the guy was just the sort of thing a kid was capable of, disarming him and expertly taking him down was not. If it were just he and Grayson, Damian would have already done it. But they had identities to protect, and Damian wasn’t sure if ‘self defense’ would cover breaking out of this situation. 

It came as no surprise when, upon stepping into the building, Damian stumbled over the threshold. His foot got caught on a raised piece of metal there, and he felt his big toe smash into it. He yelped, and fell forward, dragging the man off his own balance. 

The arm around him suddenly let go, and Damian crashed to the ground, landing on his shins with bruising force. He had enough sense to catch himself with his hands, and for a brief second his nose had a chance to breathe fresh air. 

Then, a boot caught his stomach, dragging him up with such force the air was knocked from his lungs. Pain laced his middle before he slammed into the ground. Bile rose in his throat and he coughed, hands balling into fists before him. 

Then the boot came again this time into his side, and Damian was sure at this point it was steel toed even if he couldn’t see it from this angle. It landed with a crack and he bit back a yell as his vision went white. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. 

Around him voices were yelling, and the only thing he could make out was the rough voice of the idiot trying to break into the bank, snarling, “Stupid brat! What do you think you’re doing?!” 

Damian curled in on himself as the boot came again into his side. Then again, hitting his elbow and ribs, sparking hot tears. Then it came again, higher this time to hit Damian’s head, curled downward. He cried out again, vision doubling.

“Stop it!” Grayson cried, from somewhere around him, “Calm down, he tripped, that’s all. He just tripped!” 

Then a hand was in his hair dragging him up to his knees, and Damian wanted to throw up. The sharp pain felt doubled. He opened eyes he hadn’t realized he’d closed, and promptly squeezed them shut again. It was suddenly too bright, his vision blurry. 

Blindly, he reached up to try and get the hand out of his hair, to make the pain stop. Metal swatted at his hands, stinging one with such force Damian dropped it to cradle. He felt the gun shoved back against his temple and he froze, blinking his eyes open again to try and find Grayson.

His vision clearing at last, revealing a brother all too pale looking. Damian wanted to do or say something, but his head hurt too much to focus on anything beside that for long, he felt something warm slip it’s way down the back of his skull to his neck. 

“This is what we’re going to do.” The man’s voice came in gasps, but was gaining control as he spoke, “The brat and I are going to stay right here. You two are going to head to the tills and pull out all the cash inside ‘em.--” 

He paused his directions for a moment, and the gun was lowered just long enough for the man to rustled in his coat and pull out a rough sack that he tossed in the space between them. Damian had to bite back a laugh, the sack looked almost identical to the bags an old cartoon Grayson had made Damian watch. It was absurd. 

What kind of robber was this man? Showing up at arguably the worst time to rob a bank, carrying tools that could hardly be called appropriate, and flying off the hinges at a stumble. 

The gun returned to Damian’s head as the man continued, “Fill this up with all the cash you can. Then the boy and I are going to head out of here.” 

“He’s just a kid.” Henry argued, “Just let him go.” 

“I will, when I’m sure you two aren’t following me. We get this done right, and soon enough he’ll be running back here.” 

Damian felt sick at the thought of running. His chest was throbbing and his head splitting. He couldn’t picture moving fast enough to get air in the way he’d need it when running. Or maybe it was just the terrible angle he was being held at, pulling at bruised (hopefully not cracked) ribs. Not that he’d be running anywhere. This fool seemed to have no idea that what he’d just demanded was impossible. 

The truth was obvious in Henry’s face, he looked terrified, and kept shifting his gaze from Damian to the man holding him and back, his mouth gaping like a fish. 

“Something wrong?” the would-be-robber demanded. 

“It’s just--there is no money in the tills. We empty them at the end of the day.” Henry threw his hands out in front of him, “Don’t hurt the kid, we can still--I--”

Damian yelped as he was suddenly dragged a little higher, not quite enough so he could stand, but enough his chest was really feeling the pressure now. The pressure of being dragged up by his hair had head feeling like it was about to crack open at any minute. 

“Stop!” he cried, grabbing again at the hand twisted in his hair. He’d wanted it to sound firm, but instead his voice came out like that of a scared child. 

He was ignored as the man yelled at Henry.

“You’d better figure something out!” he roared. 

He turned stinging eyes to look for Grayson, wondering if his brother had formulated any kind of a plan yet. Grayson was tense, focused. Probably looking for a chance to tackle the idiot robber and get this all done and over with. _He_ could get away with a move like that as long as he didn’t make it look too practiced. 

Damian could distract the guy. If he could get him to move the gun again it would be out of anyone’s range, and then Grayson could move in. Biting the man was out of the question now, since no limbs were within range, but Damian could still reach out to deal damage. Grab at the idiot’s mouth and pull, or shove and elbow back into his crotch. 

He all but stared at Grayson again, trying to get his attention. It was worse than earlier, when he’d been stuck waiting outside and glaring daggers. Now Damian needed those eyes on him, especially if they were to fix this. 

“I can get the safe open, but it will take some time. I have to find the key, and put in the code. And it’s further back.” Henry was saying. 

He wished the man had chosen any other suggestion than the safe. The ATMs were right there, Damian did not want to be dragged any further into this bank, especially out of sight of the doors. He hadn’t heard them close, creating a slim chance someone might actually see what was going on and help. 

The robber seemed to consider this new information. While he did Damian continued to stare at Grayson, hoping his attention would lower if only for a second. Vigilance was excellent and all, but how would they work together if he would not look at Damian?

“Alright, but we all go. You’ll lead, he’ll follow with the bag, and we’ll take up the rear. Any funny business happens, and I shoot the kid, then both of you.” 

Damian was quickly running out of time to make a move right here and now and Grayson was still not looking at him. They were close enough his plan could work but he needed confirmation.

“Can I grab the bag then?” Grayson asked, nodding towards it. 

“Hurry it up.” 

His brother nodded, and stepped forward, slowly so he could telegraph each of his moves. At last he looked down, not at the bag, but Damian. His eyes flicked up at the man once, and Damian knew Grayson was as ready as he to finish this. 

Daman mouthed, ‘Distraction, me.’ then, ‘You.’ and he flicked his eyes up at the robber. 

They could do this. They’d done so much more before as Batman and Robin, and with far less communication than they had now.

Damian reached up again to grab at the hand, “Let me go, I can walk.” he pleaded, “I’ll be good, I promise.” 

He purposefully made his voice terrified and high adding a quiver for good measure. He hated how he sounded so helpless and pathetic, but he needed the man’s attention off Grayson, and onto himself. Needed the gun moved for a second at least. It could work if he could just get the man to--

The gun went off right next to his ear. Damian jerked backwards, hair tearing as he was still in the man’s hold. His ear was screaming, head throbbing, everything mixing together in one cacophony of pain. 

Gunpowder mixed with the horrible smell of sourness and cigarette smoke as he was dragged up, an arm hooking around his middle to press him back into the horrible man’s chest. Damian flailed, pushing and kicking against the man, while screaming.

His mind whited out in that moment, for one thing had to have happened. If he had not been shot, then it had been Grayson. His brother was dead. He’d been shot. He had been shot and it was Damian's fault. 

“Grayson! Grayson!” the name tore from his throat. 

Something hard slammed into his head, accompanied by a furious, “Shut up!” 

“It’s fine, Damian I’m fine.” Grayson’s voice sounded far away, and was hard to hear around the way Damian’s ear was ringing like a bell. 

He pried his eyes open to find that Grayson was indeed fine, the sack clutched against his chest as he knelt on the ground. There was a bullet hole in the wall behind him, just wide enough it wouldn’t have hit Grayson even if the man hadn’t dropped into a crouch. He’d been paying closer attention than Damian. 

“I said no funny business and I meant it.” The man growled, gripping Damian harder, “That was a warning shot for you two schemers, don’t think I couldn’t tell.” 

Grayson’s arms went up again, one still gripping the sack, “No scheming. He’s just scared. He’s a kid, and he’s scared and I was trying to reassure him.” 

“Reassurances can wait. We go now.” 

They were marched to the back of the bank, behind the tills and down a hall. The trip for Damian was a dizzying one. His ear was still ringing, and his head felt like a fishbowl that had been dropped from a building, shaking and shuddering with its insides flying every which way, moments from bursting. 

He wanted to throw up. He wanted to cry. He just wanted a breath of air that didn’t reek of this man. He wanted his brother who was _right there_ and he wanted to go home. 

Grayson's attention was no longer on anything but Damian, and he kept glancing back at them. Damian would have reassured him, but he was having enough trouble putting one foot in front of the other as he was shoved and pushed and prodded along. 

“Couldn’t he walk on his own?” Grayson tried again, seeing Damian stumble for the hundredth time.

“No.” the word was growled, and Damian shoved again. 

At last, they stopped at the safe. Henry managed to get it open quicker than he’d initially suggested and swung it wide open. Both he and Grayson entered, and again Damian found himself standing and waiting. He was getting really tired of waiting. 

His head hurt. And his chest. And his stomach was churning like the sea. He didn’t want to be standing there. Didn’t want to keep dealing with this. 

The problem with waiting around was that he had nothing to distract him from his stomach. Or the way bile, hot and sick kept clawing its way up his throat like bad heartburn. His mouth kept watering in that way it only did when he was about to throw up, and now matter how many times he swallowed it just kept building. 

“What’s taking you so long!” the man demanded, shaking Damian, “You want the kid to die? Is that it!?” 

He shook Damian again, and that was it. Damian couldn’t stop himself from choking, then he coughed once, twice, and his stomach turned. He threw up right there, all down the man’s arm, and onto his shoes and Damian couldn’t stop, even when the yelling started, and he found himself tumbling to the ground.

His chest heaved, and then another gunshot went off and he flinched, pushing himself up and backwards, scrambling away from the noise and chaos and sound. There was yelling. So much yelling and his ear was ringing, and Damian shut his eyes against it all and threw his hands up and over his ears to make it stop. Make it stop--

“Make it stop!” he yelled only to find the noise had ceased. 

Hands gently took his own, and pulled them away from his head, “Dames. Kiddo, it’s over. Look at me?” 

Damian opened his eyes and found Grayson kneeling beside him. In his panic, Damian had moved away from the pile of sick on the floor, and thankfully Grayson wasn’t kneeling in it. He was however, just about hovering over Damian the way his hands were moving, first to rub a cloth across Damian’s mouth, wiping up any remaining vomit. Then he was checking his arm arms, pressing lightly against Damian’s chest --he hissed at that-- tilting his head back to check the growing bump back there. 

“Grayson.” Damian whined at the attention, “What happened?” 

He tried to lean around his brother to look, but Grayson was tutting over his head injury.

“You’re bleeding.” a hand cupped his right ear, “Here too. Can you hear that?” he had apparently snapped in the direction of Damian's ear. 

“All I hear from there is ringing.” Damian winced, “What happened to the robber?”

Grayson leaned back and grinned at him, “I threw the sack of cash at his head.” 

Damian’s eyes went wide at that. 

His brother shrugged, “He was already disoriented, and furious by the way. Good move throwing up all over him. Unorthodox, but effective.”

It was not as if Damian could have controlled that, but he accepted the praise without admitting he’d thrown up on accident. 

“You are alright?” Damian asked, quietly. 

He looked his brother up and down, Grayson seemed slightly ruffled but fine. Tension in Damian’s aching chest eased. The worst outcome of this event would have been Grayson being injured. 

“Yep, you’re not though. Think you need a hospital? Mr. O’Conner is phoning the police right now.” 

Damian shook his head, then regretted it as his vision tilted. He reached up to grip uselessly at his head again. 

“A mild concussion, at least.” Grayson titled his head at him, “Let’s compromise, you allow the EMTs to look you over, and I give you a hug.” 

Grayson did not wait for Damian to agree to the not-compromise --Damian would be looked over and hugged no matter what he had to say-- and instead tugged him forward into an embrace. 

Damian did not fight it. In fact, he leaned into it. Grayson’s chest was warm, and he smelled of sandalwood and Pennyworth’s fabric softener, not smoke or gunpowder. 

Before Damian realized what was happening, he was scooped up, from the embrace into being carried. Grayson hooked an arm under his legs and settled him against his hip, his other arm wrapped around Damian’s back to stabilize him. 

“Cheater.” Damian mumbled, but he was already snuggling his head in the crook of his brother’s neck, “This was not in the deal.” 

“If you’re upset about this, I probably shouldn’t tell you about our next stop then.”

“Hospital?” Damian murmured.

“Hospital.” Grayson confirmed. 

“As long as I do not have to stand and wait there. And you owe me two trips to the craft store. Plus ice cream.” 

He felt a kiss pressed into the top of his hair, “Deal.” 


End file.
